Peter 567

My soul's bared against the Son,
spat raged, and bit its tongue.
When it laid itself back down,
it was raised without a sound.

Sent my thoughts away for days.
They have not been seen or missed.
Worries cast upon my God,
broken is my world-wise tryst an-
d broken is my self.



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This text © 2002 John David Robinson, all rights reserved. Duplication prohibited without written consent.